Continues (after a hiatus) from the previous post. I'll keep this short as I have a fair bit to catch up on from my hiatus period.
I was still thinking of managing this on my own as I rolled from the rink, hoping to get to my keys and then my car with as little fuss as possible. I was relieved, however, when I was met by one of the good citizens of Viking Nation as I started to make my way up the back corridor, asking if I was alright and if I needed anything. I said I needed a 'puffer' and he said follow me and from that moment on I was in the hands of good people.
Before I knew it I was being taught to use a 'spacer' device with a puffer, had people measuring my heartbeat as I had more ventolin than I thought was safe but which I was assured was within limits. At four puffs every ten minutes, each puff being inhaled four times through the 'spacer', I was getting the ability to speak in short sentences back within the half hour. It was about then that an off duty nurse called her paramedic friend and sought some basic advice, then they conferred with me about calling an ambulance. They weren't keen to put more ventolin into me without medical supervision as my heart was racing along. Early in the piece it had been 140, it was down to about 90 by the time the ambo's measured it. They said they'd like to take me to hospital. Not totally reluctantly, I agreed.
There followed my first ever trip in an ambulance, chatting the medic in the back as she gathered info from me before depositing me in the waiting room. One of the hockey family who'd been caring for me back at the rink drove separately and together we waited and chatted in the room for a couple hours. At some point a nurse checked my various signs. I waited some more and watched the passing parade of broken bones and crying kids which is the typical fare of an early Saturday night in Gawler.
Eventually it was my turn and I got to see the gruff middle aged Malaysian doctor who never repeated himself and was all business. I think once he worked out I wasn't a drunken thug and I was interested in what he was doing he slowed down his speech a little, took a little extra time to explain or describe what he was doing and what he observed and what he thought as he went along. I walked out of their feeling better about my lungs than when I'd gone in, with a script for some preventative medication to help avoid in future, the earnest intention to see my own doctor some time in the not too distant future and a general feeling of wellness. Not typical for someone leaving hospital, I'll warrant!
The whole experience was pretty enlightening. At no point had I panicked or even really gotten scared. I appreciated being able to trust others to guide my decisions, and the obvious concern but respectful distance provided by the club's members. It meant a lot to have opposition members check in on me as I slowly recovered on the sidelines.
For the record, I think the attack was due a combination of factors, a 'perfect storm' as it were, that just awaited the right trigger moment. Which I provided when I didn't do any real prepatory skating, thus not warming up my airways, thus allowing huge lung fulls of very cold air to penetrated very deep and shock everything into paralysis of the airways. The combination of factors was the fact that I'd been a little 'off colour' for a few days (though not even arising to a level of a low grade cold), the cold and dry weather, the burning off that was occuring in rural south australia, and my own personal 'static' factors (smoker, history of bronchial complaint, middle aged) and it was an attack waiting to happen.
Sigh.
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